The guy goes down, hitting the floor with a grunt. His buddy roars, lunging for her. Bianca doesn’t back down. She moves like someone who’s fought before. Someone who doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t second-guess, doesn’t freeze. She kicks, dodges, throws another punch. Then another.
The entire bar goes still, all eyes on this tiny woman taking on two burly men like it's the most natural thing in the world. The jukebox crackles, forgotten in the background, while beer bottles hang mid-air, arms mid-swing.
By the time I reach her, she’s a goddamn storm.
And me? I just stand there. Watching. Feeling something unfurl inside me, slow and dangerous. This isn’t just attraction. This isn’t just curiosity. This is something deep. Something I don’t know how to fight.
I grit my teeth.
I am in so much fucking trouble.
Chapter Twenty
Bianca
I probably ought to be more worried about the fact that I’m grinning while dodging a punch. But there it is: a big, stupid, shit-eating grin. What the hell is wrong with me? No one in their right mind would ever confuse me for Muhammad Ali. These two guys—though they have no grace in fighting, or anything, really—are a hell of a lot bigger than me. They’re stronger, meaner, and, yeah, they have me outnumbered two-to-one. Probably not the smartest situation I’ve ever found myself in, especially late at night in some sketchy back alley. My brother would laugh his ass off if he knew I was spending my time like this.
But, honestly? I fucking needed this.
It feels so good letting go. After days of stress from dealing with Victor’s threats, exhaustion from my day job, and fighting like hell to keep Safe House from sinking under the weight of its broken finances, the best therapy I could ask for is cracking a few knuckles.
The guy on my left lunges. He has blond hair that looks like it hasn’t seen a shower in a week, and his movements are as sloppy as his hygiene. I sidestep effortlessly, bring my elbow up, and catch him in the ribs. He grunts and stumbles back a step, but the bastard doesn’t go down.
The other guy, the one I decked first? He’s already back on his feet. His eyes as wide as dinner plates, his fists clenched. I don’t like my odds. He’s got a tattoo on his thick neck and the muscles in his forearms are straining like they’re about to explode. I pivot out of the way, ready to keep going, when I spot something in my periphery.
Tank.
Not helping.
Not saving my ass.
Just standing there like a goddamn statue. His mouth slightly open, arms crossed over his massive chest, watching like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. I can’t believe it either.
I roll my eyes, slipping another wild punch and ducking to the side.
"Little help?" I call.
The guy with the neck tattoo gets a hand on me, and I twist hard, slipping out from under him.
Tank doesn’t move. Doesn’t even blink.
I dodge again, barely slipping a blow to the face, and feel my hair rustle with the wind of his passing punch. I can’t keep this up much longer.
"Seriously?" I yell out, my voice tinged with exasperation. "Are you scared or something?"
That finally seems to snap him out of whatever stupid trance he’s in. With a grin that sends a shiver straight through my bones, Tank rolls his shoulders and steps forward.
"Alright, Bianca," he says, voice full of amusement. "I can get you out of this jam."
The next few seconds are an absolute blur.
One second, I’m still fighting for my life against these assholes and realizing that, as good as it felt at the beginning, this wasn’t the wisest way to get some stress relief.
Then Tank explodes into action, moving with a calculated aggression that's as precise as it is powerful. He's like a goddamn wrecking ball, a force of nature that no one and nothing can stop. Before I even know how, one man is ripped away, Tank's massive hand grasping him by the collar and yanking with a strength that's monstrous. The motion is fluid, effortless, as he drives a brutal fist into the guy’s gut. He doubles over instantly, collapsing with a gasp of shock and pain, and I'm left to face the other one alone.
Except not. I’m not alone, and in that split second, I realize how much of a difference it makes. Tank has created an opening, and I’m quick to take advantage of it. Before the other guy can even react, I slam my knee hard into his stomach, watching him fold like a cheap suit.
We move effortlessly, like we’ve done this dance before.
